


Learn to break instead of bend

by hopelessbookgeek



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Fake Dating, M/M, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Theta is North's son, human theta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8467663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessbookgeek/pseuds/hopelessbookgeek
Summary: After a difficult breakup, York doesn't think he'll ever see North again. But when North proposes they pretend to date again for Theta's sake, he thinks he might get the chance to make up for all his past mistakes. After all, the relationship is fake; they don't have to fall in love all over again. Right?





	1. Hard to Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> I NEED disgustingly domestic Nork and I love the fake dating trope so HERE we go.

_“Hey, York, I’m going out for coffee. Wanna meet me at Starbucks?”_

“No thanks, Wash. I’m just hanging out here today, I think.” He curled up on the couch with a mug of coffee, gone somewhat cold since he’d brewed it that morning. He took a sip; weak and watery, cheap and bitter. With a grimace, he set it on the coffee table.

_“Like every day.”_ The disapproval in his voice was thick and obvious. He used to hide it under a coat of concern, but that had faded by New Year’s. Well, at least it had been there at all; Carolina had been a lot more blunt. _“Let me guess. You didn’t get dressed today?”_

“I got dressed,” York protested.

_“In real clothes? Or sweatpants?”_

Well, he had him there. “Listen, it’s my day off. I don’t have to get dressed.”

_“You love the spring, York. This time last year, or ANY year, you’d be damn delighted to get out for a walk because it’s finally warm out. The fact that you’re spending the first nice day of spring inside–”_

“I get it, I’m pathetic,” he said, a little more clipped than he’d meant. “Hey, you go have fun. Enjoy your walk. I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

Wash hummed at the other end of the line. _“Alright,”_ he said finally, _“but tomorrow–”_

“Tomorrow I’ll put on real clothes and go for a walk in the lovely sunshine. I will eat a full meal and get a good night’s sleep and will not mention my ex even once. Does that suit Your Majesty?”

_“Yes. And the sass suits you. I’ll see you tomorrow, York.”_

“See you tomorrow, Wash.” He was almost smiling when he hung up. It was hard to ask for a better friend than Wash; he knew when to push and when to step back, and he only indulged York’s desire to wallow for a little while. Maine gave him too much space and Carolina pushed too soon, but Wash knew just what he needed, even when it wasn’t what he wanted. There was an awful lot of sadness inside him, York knew; that must have been why he dealt with it so well. It wasn’t a happy thought.

Still, he’d made Wash a promise, so he dug through his fridge for whatever he’d half-distractedly bought at the grocery store a few days before and came up with the ingredients for a somewhat bastardized version of stir fry. It was even nice to get lost in the cooking, in the sharp scent of soy sauce, the sizzle of frying peppers, the tiny splatters of hot oil on his hands (hey, it wasn’t all good). The chicken was almost done frying when, distantly, he heard the door ring.

York genuinely considered not answering– dinner was on the stove, and he was in grease-stained sweatpants, and he was tired and, these days, hated talking to people more than he had to. But then whoever it was rang again and he trotted towards the door with a sigh.

He expected the UPS guy with the _Firefly_ box set he’d ordered on a whim the week before, or maybe a Jehovah’s Witness. He considered it might be Wash or Carolina checking up on him, or maybe his overly-friendly new neighbor looking to borrow a cup of sugar. He did not expect his ex-boyfriend, wearing a leather jacket and an impassive expression.

“North,” he said, without really thinking.

“York.” He gave a curt nod. “You look…”

“Bad,” he finished, chancing half a smile. “You can say it. I know.” North didn’t answer, merely looked down at him with blue, blue eyes. “So, uh, what can I do for you?”

“Maybe it’s best if we take this inside.”

“Saucy,” he said, before cursing. “Sorry. Habits.”

“I understand. I–” He froze, sniffing the air. “Something burning?”

“Fuck.” He bolted back into the kitchen, not waiting to see if North was following or if he’d close the door behind him, and yanked the frying pan away from the burner. Thank God the fire alarm hadn’t gone off, but the chicken was in rough shape, half-blackened. Maybe he’d eat it anyway. He stared at it, as though it could advise him on what to do.

“You’ve cooked better,” North said from behind him. There was a touch of warmth in his voice, but when York turned to face him, he still wasn’t smiling. It was starting to get unsettling; North had always been so gentle and soft. Seeing him so– so _blank_ , it was hard.

“This fits the general way my life has been trending, yeah.” He could figure out what to do with it later. He made sure the stove was off and then leaned on the counter while North hovered in the doorframe. The distance between them was only ten feet at most, but it was palpably thick. “So is, uh, everything okay? I know you wouldn’t come back unless…”

Something, finally– a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, the faintest pained grimace. “It’s Theta.”

York’s heart seized. “Is he–”

“He’s alright. Well, no, he’s– that’s why I’m…” He cleared his throat. “Theta never met his birth mother, he never wanted to. I didn’t date until you. You were the only other parent he ever knew, and losing you has been… hard for him. He’s not eating, not sleeping, he’s getting in fights–”

“ _Theta?_ No.” He was an odd child at times but always a sweetheart, compassionate and kind like his father. York had never heard him raise his voice, even though he’d be just about seven.

“I didn’t believe it either. He’s not… he’s so _unhappy_. I haven’t heard him laugh in weeks. I had a – a date a few weeks ago and he just hated her. I don’t know what else to do.”

York’s hands tightened against the counter and he tried not to make it obvious that he was trembling. “What– what are you asking?”

Bold as brass, North could look him in the eye even as his cheeks tinted pink. “I don’t want to get back together,” he said, as though that were even an option, “but I… would like to pretend we did. For Theta’s sake.”

York’s mouth fell open and for a moment he couldn’t speak. “He’s too smart for that,” he managed after a moment.

“He is smart, but he’s trusting. I don’t think it would occur to him that we would do something like this.”

“I didn’t think it would have occurred to _you_.”

North shrugged, shameless. “He’s my son. He’s my whole world. Anything that will keep him from being so miserable is something I’m willing to try. Are you? Willing to try, that is?”

He wanted to say, _no_. He wanted to say, _I need time to think about it_. He wanted to say, _how dare you ask me this now_. But he loved that little boy like his own child, and he had been away from him for so long, that instead of saying any of those things he said “okay”.

“Okay,” North said in return, obviously relieved. “I can pick you up tomorrow morning. You’ll be in the guest bedroom.”

“Alright.” He’d spent the last six months hoping to see North again. He’d even planned out what to say– when to apologize, what to ask him. But now, now… Everything seemed to stick in his throat, and suddenly being near North was too much and not enough at the same time, and he wanted to embrace him or make him leave. “I guess you know the way out.”

“Guess so.” He didn’t move. “Are you… are you dating _him_ now?”

York shook his head. “Haven’t dated anyone. I don’t even talk to Wash much anymore. I think he’s embarrassed on my behalf. It’s hard to look at him without thinking about… I don’t really get out much anymore.”

North nodded, once. If that was a relief or a disappointment, York couldn’t read it on his face.

“North, _he_ was nothing to me. You know I–”

“I’ll be here at ten tomorrow morning,” he said abruptly, as though York wasn’t speaking. “You won’t be moving in right away. We’ll start small; a few afternoons and breakfasts. You can pick him up from school sometimes, on days you aren’t working. Maybe in a week or two you can spend the night and we can work it up from there.”

York rubbed his temple. God, this was gonna be more work than a real relationship. “Okay. I, uh… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Alright.” Somewhat stiffly, North held out his hand, and York took a few steps forward to shake it. His touch was electrifying, as it always was; it was hard, after so long without it, to feel the familiar brush of his palm. His hand was still warm and strong, and in the glow from the kitchen windows, the hairs on the back shone pale gold. The longer their hands touched, the harder it would be to let go, so York pulled his hand back as quick as he could without being rude.

There was nothing to say, so everything went unsaid and North saw himself out.


	2. Playing the Part

The next morning, York got up early. He didn’t want to– he was tired, and everything hurt inside. But he’d promised Wash, and he’d promised North, so he rose with the sun and dressed in nice jeans and a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. It was one of the few shirts he still owned that North hadn’t bought for him, and during their relationship, North’s incredible cooking put enough meat on his bones that the shirt didn’t quite fit right. Now it hung a little loose.

If he’d had more than a night’s notice, York might have baked something for Theta, pastries or brownies or bread, but he had nothing, so he lounged on the couch instead, watching _Hemlock Grove_ half-distractedly.

At ten on the dot, the doorbell rang and the dog started barking. York had to push him out of the way to even reach the door. “Hey, D. D, move. _Delta!_ ”

The golden retriever looked up at him with not nearly as much shame as York had been hoping for, but at least moved long enough for York to wrench the door open. “Are you ready?” North asked, and York nodded.

It was, as Wash had said about yesterday, just a beautiful spring day. A few clouds dotted the blue sky, and the air still bit his cheeks, but it was warm enough to go without a coat and neighbors with more energy than him had tended to the crocuses and daffodils blooming in their gardens. “Lovely day,” York said, half to himself, but North said nothing.

He kept on saying nothing on the car ride over, and the radio was turned all the way down; North had always loved music, before. Out of respect, and uncomfortable, York stayed quiet and kept his temple pressed to the cool glass window, only speaking when they were in North’s neighborhood. “We need to kiss,” he said softly, watching the street slip by.

“What? Why?”

“We only have to do it in front of Theta. Playing the part, y’know.”

“No. He won’t notice.”

“He will.”

“He’s a child. They don’t–”

York peeled himself from the window and looked over at North. “You think with how affectionate we were before that he wouldn’t notice? You couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

North didn’t look at him. “Kiss on the cheek, then. Sometimes. Nothing more.”

York nodded, even knowing North wasn’t looking at him, and they said nothing else as they pulled into North’s driveway. The paint under one of the windowsills was peeling and the garden was still dead and desolate, without a loving touch to bring it back to life. It wasn’t the house he’d left, the cheerful yellow ranch, but he saw a child’s blonde head in the window and that changed everything in a heartbeat.

North was forgotten locking up the car as York raced towards the front door. It was locked, but he jiggled the knob for a second before Theta opened it. Without even thinking he dropped to his knees and pulled the child into a tight embrace. “York!” Theta cried, pressing his face into the cook of York’s neck and wrapping his skinny little arms around him. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, buddy.” He breathed in the smell of him, the little-boy scent of children’s shampoo and his dad’s pine needle cologne. “You got so big when I was gone! You’re gonna be taller than me soon.”

“I don’t think so yet,” he said, practical as ever. “Are you gonna stay?”

“Always, buddy. Anyone wants me to leave, I’m gonna _have_ to beat ‘em up. What do you think?”

He couldn’t see Theta nod, but he felt it. His hair was getting a little long and wanted cutting; it brushed York’s shoulder when he moved. “York?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we make meatballs later?”

York laughed and let the kid go so he could stand back up. “Absolutely. But for now your dad and I are gonna make brunch, and then you’ll have to tell me everything that happened since I left. What do you think?”

“Okay!” He took York’s hand and dragged him inside, but once inside abandoned him to return to whatever he was reading before they got home. York watched him for a moment, the way his brows furrowed in concentration and the careful way he had of turning pages, before heading into the kitchen where North was waiting.

“You don’t have to cook. I’ll do it,” North said, taking the eggs out of the fridge.

“No, no. You invited me. I know not, like, as a guest, but I…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. All he knew was that being here in this kitchen again was too much to bear just sitting there alone, that he couldn’t handle the scene of tranquil domesticity without throwing himself into cooking so hard it distracted him, that God damn it, he wanted to make eggs for the only son he had and it had been six long months without being able to. All that wanting caught up in his throat and made it too hard to speak, but after a year and a half together North knew how to read him and handed him the carton of eggs in silence.

At brunch, Theta chattered a mile a minute about things York only half understood, with stories about people York didn’t know in places he wasn’t familiar with. He was a quiet kid usually, but when he got excited, he got excited, and York couldn’t help but smile to hear about his grades and his friends and the dog he saw at the park the other day that he thought was Delta but turned out not to be after all. From the look on North’s face, it had been a while since he’d heard Theta go off like that, too. There was a certain amount of pride he took in that.

Over the course of the day, York played no fewer than three games of Clue with Theta and lost each one without knowing how. They rolled meatballs together and York tried to teach Theta the meatball song that everyone seemed to just learn in elementary school, but Theta gave him a long-suffering sigh and explained that he was _seven_ now and was too old for such stupid stuff.

The long day of excitement must have tuckered the poor kid out, though, because by seven thirty he was asleep on the couch and North drove York home. The silence was harder to maintain now; York was grinning ear to ear and could have gushed about his day for hours, even to North, who was there. So instead he just said, “thank you for this. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Well, I didn’t know what he would do without you. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

Ooh. He wasn’t as big a fan of cold, frosty North. “You know,” North continued, “you can date if you want. Just keep it quiet so Theta doesn’t suspect…”

“Thanks, but, uh, I’m not really in the market.” He paused before trying the same on him. “Are you planning on dating any time soon?”

For a moment it looked like North might actually answer the question, but when he pulled up to York’s place he just shrugged. “Not sure how that’s any of your business.”

York kept his Boston temper in check and didn’t insult him for the snub, but it hurt. He wasn’t going to say it did, obviously, but it did. He’d seen North cry, he’d heard him spill his darkest nightmares and deepest fears, and he’d shared his own in response. He could handle North hating him, he thought. He couldn’t handle not being important. “I’ll see you around,” he managed before getting out of the car and trying not to rush back inside.

The very first thing he did, before changing into pajamas or feeding Delta, was call up Wash. “Hey, Wash? Can you come over, and also bring alcohol?”

“ _What? Why?_ ”

He explained quickly about North and Theta, and Wash was quiet for a minute. “ _You’re a sad sack of shit_ ,” Wash said, “ _but I’m on my way. But I’m not watching fucking_ Top Gun _again!_ ”

“We’ll see,” he said, instead of thanks, and hung up. By the time Wash got there, his pajamas were on, the dog was fed, and _White Chicks_ was loaded up on Netflix. Wash took one look at the TV and groaned.

“You put on the _only_ movie I want to watch less than _Top_ Gun. I hate you.”

“But you brought liquor,” York said, taking the paper bag from Wash. It was whiskey, and not good whiskey. “Thanks, man. Really.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I’m glad you’re doing things at least. Why do you call me every time, though? Don’t you have other friends? Can’t you talk to your therapist?”

“Oh, no, I don’t talk to her about things like this.”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t want her to think I’m some kinda _loser_.”

Wash groaned. “Jesus Christ, York. Let’s just watch the damn movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider leaving a comment with your thoughts!


	3. Self-Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA I'm sorry this chapter took so long, I had major writer's block. Should be better from here on out!

Here is what York knows of breakups: that everything sucks for a few weeks or months, and then you can move on. That you delete their number from your phone and block them on Facebook. That you will pretend it’s amicable but that doesn’t actually make it any easier. That your friends will choose sides, and that will hurt almost as much as the breakup. That being sorry doesn’t even really matter.

Here is what York knows of faking a relationship:

Yeah, he mused in the shower the morning after. Yeah. There was not a handbook to consult here. There was no Springsteen song about this. There were no rom coms. He had jumped out of this plane with North, only North was cushioned by not giving a shit and he, York, had no parachute. He didn’t even know how to talk to the friends he did have about this.

He’d decided not to tell anyone but Wash that his relationship was fake, and since he hardly used social media and Wash kept confidentiality stricter than most doctors did, it shouldn’t be too hard. Later, someday, he’d tell Carolina, and she’d be _pissed_ that he told Wash and not her (and then she’d lay into him about why his plan was stupid, etc; that’s why he didn’t tell her) but that was Future York’s problem.

He mulled over all that in the shower, too. It ended up being a long shower.

When it was done, though, he… didn’t exactly feel _better_ or less conflicted, but he was warmer, so he put on jeans and a coat and went out for a walk around his neighborhood with Delta. When they got to the park he puled out his phone and Face-timed Wash. “Heyy, buddy,” he said, and Wash raised an eyebrow.

_“Why are you Face-timing me? I’m barely awake. Aren’t you hungover?”_

“No,” he said, although he was. “Just wanted to prove that I went outside today.” He flipped the camera and filmed Delta play-fighting with some goofy-looking basset hound. “There’s Delta, getting more action in ten seconds than I have all year.”

_“What… what are you talking about? Do you wanna get in a fist fight with your boyfriend?”_

“And I’m wearing jeans and everything. Check it out.” He panned down to prove it, the somewhat frayed hems brushing his beaten up Converse. “Are you going to stop worrying about me yet?”

_“You’re kidding. After everything you told me last night, you think the worrying is gonna stop now? The worrying has just begun, York.”_

“Oh, alright, _Dad_.”

_“But the jeans and the outside are a good first step. Keep it up. Now if you don’t mind, I can hear my heartbeat and it’s really freaking me out so I’m gonna go lie down for the next ten days. Call me if you need me.”_

“Will do. Sleep well, buddy.” He hit _end_ and stuffed the phone back in his pocket and whistled for Delta. He didn’t come, of course, so he whistled again, and a third time, and that one was the charm because he left the basset hound alone and bounded up to York. York rubbed his head.

“C’mon, D, that hangover is really killing me. I need a nap.” The walk had been nice, but it was more for Wash’s benefit than his. Here is what York knows of friendships: don’t make them worry.

***

The next few weeks were shockingly routine, given the weirdness of the situation. York worked his usual hours and once a week or so would either take Theta to school or pick him up, depending on North’s hours at the high school. As a teacher, his hours were mostly consistent, but then if he had to be their early for a meeting or late for office hours, York could step in and help out with Theta. On Friday nights they’d get together for movies and take out; one Friday York was exhausted and slept in the guest bedroom, and Theta’s excitement over seeing him early in the morning was worth how hard it was to see North when he just woke up.

That was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d served in Iraq, he’d helped raise a child, he’d eaten three steak and cheese sandwiches in three minutes, but the hardest thing he had ever done by far was pretend he still wasn’t _stupid_ in love with North Dakota. Or, rather, pretending that he was someone who didn’t love him pretending to be someone who loved him, which should have been easier than it was. It sucked, truth be told. It sucked to see North’s cheeks turn the faintest pink with pride when Theta would describe his day, and not be able to kiss him. It sucked to see a smudge of shaving cream on the line of his jaw, hard as a Russian winter, and only point it out to him instead of wiping it off himself. It sucked to tuck Theta into bed knowing he wouldn’t be there when he woke up. It sucked being in the house he’d loved and lived in for months, knowing he was a stranger there.

Still, he had always done what people had asked of him. Wash told him to eat, he ate. North told him to smile, he smiled. If he had to suffer the pain of temporary love, then Theta’s wide grin was worth it. He hoped.

But then, if the not-so-domestic moments at the house were rough, the drives home were worse. Usually North would drive him home; York’s Jeep was not strictly “street legal” and he only drove if he _had_ to. Those rides were cold and silent, and they never got any easier. North said nothing if he didn’t have to. Tonight he had to.

“I want to invite a few people over for dinner on Friday,” he said, eyes dead set on the road as ever.

“Okay,” York said, wondering why North would be telling him. “Have fun, I guess.”

“I meant with you there.”

“Oh.”

“Why else would I tell you?”

_You used to tell me everything_. “I don’t know. Who else would be there?”

“Wash and Carolina. I haven’t seen them in months. My sister, probably.”

“Oh, North, no. You know she hates me. She hated me while we were dating, and she super hates me now. She’ll literally knock my teeth out.”

“No, she won’t,” he said firmly. “She knows better in front of my son.”

“Well, don’t let her be alone with me, then. I know I probably deserve a good South Dakota Beat Down for closure and posterity, but I’d be so ugly without my teeth, North.”

“Your teeth will be fine! I’ll talk to her, like _you_ will talk to Carolina.”

“What, so she doesn’t try to fight you?” They pulled up outside York’s place, but he didn’t move to get out of the car and North didn’t try to make him. “She won’t. She’s tough, not stupid, and she had her share of words with me about everything, don’t you worry. It’s not exactly like I have anyone jumping to my defense here. Not that I should!” he added quickly, seeing North’s bitter expression. “I’m not saying I have excuses. But the only person who’s real good to me is Wash, and he’s still friends with you, too.”

North was quiet for a moment, his eyes trained on his fingers were they were wrapped around the steering wheel. “Why did you never date Wash?” he asked softly, and York didn’t feel like getting into relationship drama, but it had been so long since North just… _talked_ to him in a non-aggressive or non-pragmatic way that he would have answered just about anything.

“I don’t think I’m his type, really. He’s a sweet guy, but I’m… he’s… Wash deserves better than me,” he said slowly. “He worries too much as it is. I know if we were actually _together_ the stress would probably kill him. If I’m gonna self-destruct, I need to do it on my own.”

Again, silence. “Self-destruction,” North said, “only makes sense if there’s no one around to love you at all. It’s never been _on your own_. Keep that in mind.”

“I– I will.” He didn’t really know what to say about that, what else there was to say that wouldn’t just ruin the moment, so he said a brief goodbye and got out of the car, and when he watched to make sure North drove off safely around the corner, he couldn’t exactly say why. When his eyes pricked with tears, he knew why, but wouldn’t admit it, so he stuck his hands in his pockets and went inside instead.


	4. Martyrdom

Carolina hated summons, but she loved North’s cooking, and so with a little convincing, she did agree to go to North’s. “ _But I’m not going for you_ ,” she said, right before she hung up. York smiled as he stuck his phone back in his pocket. She forgot how well he knew her.

It had sort of surprised him that North had said, the other night, that he hadn’t seen Wash or Carolina in months. True, Carolina had always been his friend rather than North’s (when had he last seen South and Connie?) but it wasn’t like she didn’t like him well enough. It certainly wasn’t for some loyalty to York that kept her away; she was insistent and vocal in her many critiques of his behavior and appearance. That, he had learned, was what love looked like from Carolina. He looked for it, now. He would have to ask what had made her stay away.

And _Wash_ , well, Wash had been adamant that he was going to maintain his friendship with both men, even with the ugly aftermath of their separation. Sometimes, late at night when even his cheapest whiskey wasn’t enough to let him sleep, he sat up on the roof and wondered how someone like Wash could want to stay friends with someone like him. He wondered how he could see the mistakes, the ugliness, the brokenness, his perpetual self-martyrdom and self-obsession and eternal quest for ultimate self-gratification and want to… well, want to see more. How do you look at a broken man and want to fix him? How do you look at a miserable friend and still love the reason he’s miserable?

But then, he’d reason, Wash had seen him miserable too. He knew better than anyone what the breakup, and the subsequent self-isolation, had cost York. And if he didn’t, his good friend Jack Daniels sure did.

 

***

York dressed carefully for the dinner. He wore his nicest dark jeans, the ones he’d washed just yesterday, that made his already long legs look even longer, and paired it with an almost-pressed button-up and a blazer. He combed his hair and carefully gelled it, and then he stood in front of the mirror with the makeup he’d bought from the Walgreens down the street and considered.

The dark circles under his eyes would have to go. He was supposed to be happy now, and happy men don’t lose so much sleep that their under-eyes look like galaxies. The pimple at the base of his chin from too many nights of fast food had to go as well; he didn’t want to look like he was seventeen again. And then it was just the scar.

He didn’t tell Wash, had never told North, that this was a deliberation he made every time he looked in the mirror. He was proud to have served, proud of the life he saved that blinded his eye, but… alright, call him vain. He was an arrogant, self-obsessed bastard, and he loved the look of his own face. He knew, objectively, that the red welts marred his otherwise lovely skin.

Now, no one at this impromptu dinner party would be surprised to see his scar. He’d had it for years, and no one but Carolina even knew what he looked like without it, it had been so long. But once, just once, it would be nice to not look as broken on the outside as he felt on the inside.

“But then,” he sighed aloud, “that would be dishonest.” And if he owed anyone anything at all, it was honesty. He put the concealer down and turned away.

North picked him up at exactly 6:57pm; dinner was due at just past seven, and it wouldn’t do to be more than fashionably late. North was dressed a little nicer than York was, in slacks and a tie, but then, artful decomposition was never as at home on his form as on York’s. “You look nice,” York said softly, to be kind, and to be honest. “Handsome.”

“Thank you. You as well.” A beat of silence. “South is going to be there.”

“Jesus, North, I said she was gonna–”

He held up a hand, never taking his eyes off the road, and maybe it was the father in him but York was compelled to obey. “I’ve told her the whole lie. She’s not going to start anything in front of Theta, I made her promise. I’m going to make _you_ promise now: no matter what she says or does, I don’t care if she’s making passive aggressive insults all night and kicking you under the table, you will _not_ engage. I do not want anyone fighting in front of my son. I do not want you starting anything.”

Privately, he thought that if South started anything, York was sure as hell gonna finish it, but that would be rude to say aloud, so he instead said “I promise” and did not specify to what he was referring. And, really, he didn’t think South was going to start too much shit with Connie there. South and York had always that in common: pretend you are better than you are so that your partner doesn’t realize.

They arrived at North’s in silence and walked into it laughing, as though just outside they had shared some joke. If South was watching, it would certainly look like York was making her brother happy again, the way he used to. “Hey, Carolina,” York said, and Carolina raised her glass of wine in acknowledgment. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” she said, like she always did. Carolina was the sun around which his planets could constantly revolve: ever present, and hurdling through space at a million miles per hour. “I see you graced us with your decision to wear pants today.”

He almost blushed. “I’ll have you know I wear pants almost every single day now. And I wore jeans just a week ago!”

“I want to make fun of you for that, but honestly, I don’t pluck low hanging fruit.” She sipped her wine and it stained her lips red as blood. She’d won and she knew it. He turned away.

South and Connie were seated beside each other on the couch, and York stuck his hands in his pockets to hide their trembling. “Hey, South,” he said, thinking it best to address her first. “Hey, Connie. How’s it going?”

“Good,” Connie said, her voice strained. York couldn’t tell exactly why yet. She didn’t ask him how he was. That was telling. He kept his eyes on South. She and North shared the same basic features– the same broad nose, like it had been broken before, and the same sharp chin and cheekbones, Scandinavian features. On North, he’d always thought, they were perfectly balanced with the soft bow of his mouth, but on South they made her look a little too hard. The only softness in her was her eyes, almond-shaped and clear blue, beautiful eyes, North’s eyes. On her they looked narrowed, on North merely tired; York had always thought the brother handsomer than the sister. But then, of course, he was biased, because he had loved North. Because he still did.

“Hello,” South said finally, after the longest ten seconds of his life. “Your shirt is buttoned wrong.”

He looked down and swore, at less length and volume than he would have preferred since Theta was playing with Legos in the corner, but still pretty virulent. He’d looked in the mirror, right? How had he not noticed? “Thanks. I’ll go fix that.”

He all but fled into the relative seclusion of the kitchen, where he could escape them all staring at him for just a minute. Sure, North was in there stirring a spaghetti sauce, but North’s judgmental eyes he could handle. He was used to that.

North looked over at him. “Dinner will be ready soon, be patient.” Once that would have been a tease, maybe a promise– _we have ten minutes, c’mere_. Today it was flat, unaffected.

“No, not that. I have to fix my shirt, I buttoned it wrong. I’m so fucking stupid,” he muttered to himself, and North gave him a warning look that he almost missed. He unbuttoned his shirt hastily. “You know,” he said lightly, buttoning his shirt again, “I didn’t really think I’d be taking off my clothes in your kitchen again.”

He could have sworn North almost smiled at that. “If you try to get naked in my kitchen tonight I _will_ dump this spaghetti sauce on you.” _That’s my North, there he is._

But as soon as he appeared he disappeared, and he sent York back out to socialize without even a hint of a smile. By then Wash had arrived, or maybe York hadn’t noticed him before. “Hey, Wash.”

“Hey, York. Good of you for putting on jeans.”

“Save it, Carolina already said all that.”

Wash looked kind of disappointed that he’d been beaten to the punch. “Well, I’m glad _someone_ told you, at least.”

North came out of the kitchen with a big bowl of spaghetti that he set almost ceremonially in the center of the table. “Dinner,” he said, almost portentously, “is served.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider leaving a comment with your thoughts!


	5. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with my inconsistent posting schedule, y'all.

If there was anything that could be said about that dinner, it was that people ate it. York later would scour over the details in his mind, trying to think: was anyone throwing out veiled insults? Were there implications, insinuations, accusations? Did anyone say anything noteworthy at all? Nothing would come to mind, no matter how he looked at it. Everyone was polite and casual, asking Theta about school, complimenting North on his cooking, simple small talk.

The only thing of note was when York was getting his second serving. He asked North very politely to spoon some sauce onto his pasta and flashed a wink at Wash, who rolled his eyes at, admittedly, a horrible attempt at innuendo. North smiled anyway, fulfilled the request.

When York set his plate back in front of him, he realized the bay leaf was mixed in. Most people, when making spaghetti sauce, took the bay leaf out when it was done cooking; it added flavor but you weren’t really supposed to _eat_ it, and not many people wanted to eat a damn leaf. But York always had, believing the person who gets the bay leaf will have good luck. North had laughed when he’d first explained that, almost two years ago, but York liked those little rituals.

It would have been so easy to give someone else the bay leaf. It would have been so easy to take it out, or never to have put it in in the first place, or to not give it to anyone and leave it in the pot for later. But North hadn’t. He’d given it to York, the way he always used to, when the little gesture was just another way of saying _I love you_. York’s vision blurred with tears and he excused himself to the bathroom.

When the door was closed and locked behind him and he could hear the conversation swelling, he crammed a fist against his mouth and shook with silent sobs. He knew he’d be ruining the concealer he’d put under his eyes; he knew if he made a noise accidentally he’d be heard; he knew if he went out with red eyes he’d be caught out. But pragmatism had never quite reached his heart and so he cried, because that was the only thing it felt right to do.

Now, no one had ever accused York of having a great sense of timing, not with his jokes, not in bed, but he wasn’t _stupid_ and he knew the clock was ticking from the moment he’d locked the door. He held his breath until it stopped shaking, dabbed cold water on his eyelids to reduce the swelling, and plastered a cocky smile on his face before he went out to take his place at the table. Hey, fake it til you make it, right?

North looked him over as he sat back down, and York knew he hadn’t fooled him. He’d never been able to fool him. “Feeling alright?” he said, perfectly pleasant.

“Oh, sure,” York said, smooth as running water. “Wash’s shirt just gave me vertigo and I had to lie down for a minute.”

Wash frowned down at his shirt, a sort of pink-green houndstooth. No doubt it had been created to be retro-cool, a throwback to 80s nostalgia, but that had never really been Wash’s style. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

“It’s a little loud.”

“No one else is having a problem with it.”

“Well,” York said, picking up his fork, “everyone else is able to process it through both of their eyes. I only have the one, so it’s magnified.”

“I’m nearly _positive_ that’s not how your blindness works.”

“I’m being oppressed,” York complained, rolling his good eye to Carolina for support. She pointedly ignored him, so York gave it up and went back to eating. After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the bay leaf to the side of the plate. “Anyway, what are the rest of us talking about?”

***

York helped North clean up after dinner, while Wash chatted with South and Connie in the living room and Theta taught Carolina how to play the racing game he’d just gotten. “Dinner was really great,” York said, loading the dishwasher. North said nothing, just stood by the sink frowning at the plate in his hand. After a bit York straightened up. “Everything alright?”

“You didn’t eat the bay leaf,” North said quietly. York realized it was his plate North was holding.

“Uh, no.”

“Why?”

“Why’d you give it to me? You used to…” He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

North shrugged, but he wouldn’t make eye contact. York didn’t know if that was better or worse than his usual cold stare. “Thought you could use a little luck tonight.”

“You don’t _really_ believe eating a leaf gives you good luck.”

“No, but you do. Either that or you just needed an excuse to eat leaves.” They smiled together, the first time in months. “I… didn’t have an olive branch.”

York’s heart skipped a beat. “An olive branch?”

“Forgiveness,” North clarified. That wasn’t what York was asking, but he didn’t press it. “Well, not forgiveness. But no one will believe the lie if I’m too frosty.”

York licked his lips, suddenly dry. “The lie… So you weren’t offering to get back together?”

Just as quickly as he’d softened up, North shut down again. His smile fell away like an avalanche, and his eyes darkened, every muscle stiffening. “If you have to even ask me,” he said, cold as a Swedish winter, “you never understood. I can finish washing up. Go mingle.”

York reached out with a trembling hand to touch North’s elbow, but North shrugged him off. “North…”

“That was an _order_ , not a request. You were a soldier. Obey.”

York tasted bile but stepped back. Stupid as he was, he knew when to avoid the storm. He learned from Napoleon’s mistake and didn’t press forward into winter. He obeyed.

He passed the conversation in the living room, passing over Wash’s shoulder with his fingertips in silent apology for his comments about the shirt. He passed Theta, sitting too close to the TV watching eight cars racing. York tried to figure out which one he was controlling, but couldn’t. “Hey, buddy,” he said, not wanting to break the kid’s concentration. “What happened to Carolina?”

“She said she was gonna step outside for a minute and to keep playing without her.” Kid didn’t even look away from the game. York almost smiled at that, and instead slid open the glass door to the patio. Carolina leaned against the railing with a cigarette in her hand and smoke trailing from her nostrils like a dragon. York closed the door behind him.

“Hey,” she said, glancing back at him briefly. “You doing okay?”

“Sure. Don’t I look okay? Trick question, I always look _bangin’_.” He tried his usual enthusiasm, but Carolina was too smart for that.

“I know you’re faking your relationship,” she said, taking another drag on the cigarette. “Want a light?”

“No thanks.” He used to smoke, before. He dropped the habit when he met North and hadn’t ever picked it back up. “How’d you guess?”

“It’s obvious, I think.” He leaned against the railing with her, their arms brushing together. “You’re just so fuckin’ _sad_ , York. Like, pathetic, sure–”

“Thanks,” he said dryly.

“But,” she continued like he’d said nothing, “also just clearly _unhappy_. You forget how long I’ve known you. You barely looked at him all during dinner, just stared down at your plate unless you were talking to someone. Does anyone else know you’re faking?”

“No one. Unless they guessed too.” He didn’t tell her about Wash. She’d rather be the only one who knew.

“Doubt it. People see what they wanna see.”

That prickled, somehow. “And, what, you wanted to see my relationship fail?”

“Nope, not at all. Just wanted to see the truth. Listen, York. You know why we were never gonna work out?”

“Cause you’re a lesbian.”

“ _No_. I mean, yeah, obviously, but…” She stared off into middle distance and York wondered how often she thought about the old days, if she ever missed it. “Look. I spent all my time in the army trying to be the best. I thought being the best would make me happy, and all it did was nearly get both of us killed. It left scars that aren’t ever gonna heal. I know that.” She took one last deep puff and dropped the cigarette butt, stepping on it.

“But here’s what I’ve learned since then. I tried so hard because I thought it was gonna make me happy, and it didn’t. It’s the other way around, York. Being happy makes you better, at everything. It makes you a better teacher, better friend, better partner.” She patted his hand a little awkwardly, but physical touch from Carolina meant a lot.

“It’s a process. That’s why we were never gonna work. Because you think of happiness, of a good relationship, as a _goal_ – that if you put in enough hours, enough heart, it’s all gonna come together and then you’ll be good to go. Well, it’s not like that. Happy ever after has to be every single day or you’ll end up right where you started. That’s what Vanessa taught me. Every step is progress. Celebrate progress.”

York looked out at the dark lawn, the half-deflated football in the grass. “If I’d tried to give you that speech back when we were in the army, you would have punched me right in the throat.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “Sure. Lots of things have changed since then. Back then, I didn’t think there would come a time where I wasn’t attracted to men– to _you_. I doubt you thought there would be a future for you with one eye.”

“So you get all this wisdom and a girlfriend that loves you, and what do I get? Nothing,” he spat. “Nothing but booze and an ugly scar.”

“You get _my_ wisdom by extension, idiot. You _get_ a future, no matter with which body parts or which partner. You get the chance to learn and grow, the future that Maine never got, that Wyoming never…” She trailed off. Reminding York of lost friends was a low blow, and she knew it. “You get the chance to take it one step at a time. Remember that, kid.”

She turned to leave, but before she went back inside, she touched callused fingertips to his cheek, turning his head so she could trace the puckered line of his scar. “Besides,” she said, softer then, “I think the scar looks good on you.” And she left him alone like that, with his skin tingling from her touch and the wind whistling through the bushes.


	6. Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated quicker than usual! Starting to move closer to our inevitable conclusion...

Carolina’s words slipped through his thoughts like water through rocks, and York would be focusing on them for a few days. He asked Wash about the barista he’d been seeing. _Every step is progress._ He complimented Connie on her dress and the smile he got in return was genuine. _Celebrate progress._

When South asked to talk to him privately, just for a minute, he said yes. North was showing Carolina the bottle of wine he’d been serving them and was distracted; he wouldn’t see them breaking the rules he’d made them agree to follow. They left Connie to talk to Wash and snuck into the bathroom, door locked, to talk.

“Are you gonna hit me?” York asked immediately.

“Do you think you deserve it?” she replied, eyebrow quirked.

“Yeah. But I’d rather it wait til after the party, if we can.”

“I’m not gonna hit you. I want to…” She flicked her eyes away and York had never seen her look like that, almost _humbled_. “I want to talk. When I was in middle school, some dickhead on my bus called me a dyke. I didn’t even know what it meant, but North defended me immediately, loudly calling the kid out and threatening to call his mother. He was so _proud_ of that, thinking he defended me. The kid gave him a few days of that and was gonna corner him between classes, rough him up. I got to him first. North never knew.”

York blinked. “Okay. That was nice of you.”

“You don’t get it. North has spent his whole life thinking he’s protecting me without realizing how much I’m protecting him, too. He’s my twin brother, he’s my other half. You don’t get to do what you did to my brother and stay in my good book.”

Nothing he didn’t already know. “I get it, South, I–”

“You don’t get it. I know how much it was killing you to be away from him–”

“How?” Did Wash spill? Did Carolina?

She rolled her eyes. “I still follow you on Twitter, you stupid asshole. Stop interrupting!”

“Okay, okay.”

“ _Anyway_ , obviously I know it was killing him too, and my nephew. So I’m telling you straight: if you ever hurt him, ever leave him, ever leave my nephew, I will beat the shit out of you. I’ll rupture your kidneys, I swear to God. The only reason I didn’t do it this time is because I know how happy you make him, and he’s my brother and I love him. I love Theta. Maybe you don’t really give a shit but–”

“Don’t you say that,” he interrupted, even though he’d promised he wouldn’t. He clenched his fists. “Don’t you ever say that to me. I _love_ that kid like my own son. He _was_ my son for a year and a half, and he’s my son again now. I _love_ that little boy more than anything in the world. Say whatever you want about what I did to North, I deserve it and then some, it’s probably all true. But I _never_ wanted anything more than to make that poor kid happy.”

South sized him up for a minute, her gaze calculating. She shared that expression with her brother, a perfect feminine mirror, except her looks were always fire instead of ice. York wondered if he should shield his kidneys. “Alright,” she said finally, and he huffed out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I never hated you, you know. I mean, I did _after_ , but I know how much he loves you. I wouldn’t want to hang out with you but you made– make– him happy, and that’s not nothing to me.”

“I really didn’t think this is how we’d become friends,” he said lightly.

“We’re not friends. Call it teammates– we’re both part of Team Keep My Family Happy. You do it right, I’ll stand by you. You defect, you’re fair game. You get one second chance and one warning.”

“Gotcha.” That conversation really shouldn’t have made him feel better, given the many threats to his person, but it was kind of nice to come to some sort of peace. A conditional ceasefire it might be, but at least it gave him time to clean out the trenches.

When they unlocked the door and left, North had stopped talking to Carolina and was watching them with crossed arms. “And just what is happening here?” he asked, but there was a little smile on his face and a little laughter in his voice.

York shot him an exaggerated grimace. “Playing Seven Minutes in Hell.”

“The game is Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“I think that rather depends on your luck, Handsomer Dakota Twin. Maybe if I were in there with _you_ , but instead my luck has been…” He shrugged and South half-jokingly threatened to punch him in the arm. “Hey, South, no offense. You’re actually exactly my type.”

“I hate to ask,” North asked, “but…?”

“Well, the only woman I’ve ever dated turned out to be a lesbian. Probably better that I know that going in this time.” Carolina sighed and stared at her wine instead of him. North chuckled and waved him over, winding an arm around his waist and kissing his temple.

“Well, next time stop playing games without me.” York tensed up feeling North’s touch for the first time in months, but he forced himself to relax into it instead. North was warm and it was nice, so very nice, to be held like he was loved and cared about again.

“Kiss and make up,” Connie suggested, before pulling South close to do just that. York looked up at North and smiled his mischievous half-smile, the smile that dared North to do anything, the kind of smile, North had said once, made a suburban father feel downright adventurous.

So never one to back away from a challenge, North cupped York’s cheek and trailed his thumb down the earlier tear tracks. York didn’t think they were still visible, but he didn’t know, and North had always had a sense for that type of thing. He closed his eyes and waited for North’s hesitant kiss, waiting for a quick one-and-done to satisfy their friends.

He did not expect something so deep and complete that his mouth immediately fell open in surprise and hunger. He did not expect North to devour him, for teeth to nip at his lip, for the kind of _I’ll fuck you later_ kiss he didn’t think he’d ever get again.

“Jesus,” Wash said when they pulled apart. “That was…”

“If you say hot I’ll seriously puke,” South warned.

“Sweet,” Wash tried instead, and Connie took South’s hand so that she wouldn’t say anything else.

North pulled away at the first available opportunity, when he could make it look natural, and the party resumed with no more pairing off. Connie drank a little too much wine and was flushed and laughing for the last hour; North and South easily drank twice as much without so much as a stumble. South insisted it was the Russian in them, but promised to stay sober enough to drive.

At the end of the party, Wash offered to drive York home so that North could clean up and get to bed. They all thanked him for the good time and York chanced an unprompted kiss, one to the mouth and one to the cheek. Theta had put himself to bed so he couldn’t say goodbye to him, but he made North promise to pass on well wishes and assurances he’d be over again soon.

When York was settled in Wash’s passenger seat, he immediately unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his pants. “I refuse to be constrained by well-fitting clothes any longer,” he declared, like it was an act of bravery.

“Jesus Christ, York. You look like you just got fucked. Please put your clothes back on.”

“Ooh, Wash, you thinking about me getting fucked?” he teased, even as he zipped up his pants. “Did I get you all frustrated with my sexy, sexy kissing in there?”

“Nope. It was an unfortunate combination of surprise and my own dry spell. The thought of you getting laid is making me dry heave.” He made some noises like a cat with a hairball and turned the radio down.

“What’s the matter? Barista not putting out?”

Wash glanced sidelong at him. “Tucker and I _just_ started dating. Not all of us tumble into bed within a weekend.”

“I take offense to that,” he said mildly. In truth it had taken a few weeks before he’d slept with North. Yes, usually Wash was right and he entered relationships dick-first, but he’d wanted to wait a little with North. North had been different from the beginning. Besides, they needed time to find a babysitter. But after that, with a long weekend ahead of them and Theta at his aunt’s overnight, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

“You’re in a good mood. Everything…?”

“Alright, d’you mean? I guess. Same as usual. North told me I never understood what I’d done wrong, and South threatened to punch me until my kidneys exploded. Carolina called me pathetic.”

“That sounds like it sucks, and yet here you are, sassing me like you’re getting paid for it.”

“God, I wish I were, I could quit my job. Look,” he said, his gaze following the hazy trails of the streetlights they passed, “I’m trying to look on the bright side here. South and I have made peace as long as I’m with North. North kissed me for the first time in months. And Carolina…” _Celebrate progress_. “Carolina gave me some excellent advice.”

“Yeah? She tell you to stop crying in the bathroom at parties?”

God, he was way more transparent than he thought he was. “ _No_. She told me that I need to stop thinking of happiness as a goal and more of a process. It’s about the journey, or whatever. Basically I need to think about this in a healthier way.”

“Huh. That _is_ good advice. Are you gonna take it?”

“Y’know, Wash, I think I am. You know what I’m gonna do?”

“What are you gonna do, York?”

“I’m gonna get North back.” Saying it made it real, and it sounded like a plan instead of a dream. “For real this time. I’m gonna get him back.”


	7. Reset, Rethink, Reposition

The plan was simple, really, and it was mostly about doing something York already loved: hanging out with Theta. See, York _knew_ North; there was no amount of flowers or chocolates or heartfelt speeches that would change his mind on anything. North was a _gestures_ kind of guy, and if York threw himself wholeheartedly into being a good dad to his kid… Well, it would look good.

And, York reminded himself, it wasn’t really manipulative, because he loved Theta and had been meaning to find a way to spend more time with him anyway. He missed being the mostly-stay-at-home dad, the one to share frustration over math homework and be waiting after school with a snack. He missed just _being_ there, being a steady fixture in Theta’s life instead of just the temporary father figure. Mother figure. Whatever.

So York went all in, like everything else. He started keeping a consistent schedule: taking Theta to school in the mornings, going out for a run with Delta, and doing housework or errands for either his place or North’s before it was time to pick Theta up. He’d give the kid something to eat, talk him through homework, and then just let him run hog wild until North came home and put his foot down. Of course, hog wild for Theta was turning up the television’s volume by a few more degrees. He was a better kid than York ever was.

If he’d been asked a few months ago how he’d like getting up and dressed every single morning at six, he’d have laughed until his sides split. _I left that behind in Iraq_ , he might have said. And yet every morning as the days got warmer and the sun got brighter he’d slip on running shoes and sunglasses, blast country radio with the windows down, and head out.

He didn’t focus on North. He was warm and friendly with people around, and generally inoffensive when they weren’t; North thanked him for doing the shopping, the cooking, the tidying up, but didn’t chat much beyond that. That was fine, York figured. It would come. Instead he focused on Theta, the way his eyes shone when he talked about school, the sleepy brush of his eyelashes against his round cheeks, the bony warmth of him curled up with York on the sofa when they watched _Star Wars_.

“Guess what,” said Theta one morning at breakfast. York pretended to think and then dropped his chin into his hands, resting his elbows on the table.

“What?”

“Three things.”

“Okay. What three things?”

Theta ticked them off on his little child’s hands. “It’s the first day of summer!”

“Oh, you’re right,” North said, wordlessly passing the crusts of his toast for York to finish. “It’s the longest day of the year, remember?”

“Yep! Guess the second thing.”

“Hm,” York said. “Is it Christmas?”

Theta rolled his eyes. “ _York_ , don’t be stupid!”

York heard North chuckle but didn’t look at him. “Okay, I guess you’ll have to tell me.”

“It’s the last day of school! And guess the third thing!” This time he didn’t wait for York to say anything before he continued. “It’s my birthday next week!”

“Oh, wow! You’re gonna be as old as me soon.”

“No I’m not,” said Theta, ever practical. “Auntie South said you’re old as shit.”

North choked on his coffee and York had to excuse himself to the kitchen, where he laughed so hard he almost threw up. Between gasps he heard North explaining to his son why he shouldn’t use words like that, and sure, that was the practical thing to do, but… goddamn, was it funny.

He caught his breath in time to drive Theta to school. “Sorry I said you were old,” Theta said when they were alone. “And sorry I said a bad word.”

“Oh, it’s okay, buddy. Look, you can say anything to me, okay? Any words you want. If it’s _too_ bad or if it hurts my feelings I’ll let you know. Deal? Just don’t tell your dad, I don’t think he wants you saying words like that.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m only three years older than your dad.”

“Okay.”

They pulled up outside the school and Theta held out a fist for York to bump. “Have a good day at school, buddy. See you later!”

“Bye! Love you!”

York smiled. “Love you too, kid.”

On the way home, he almost didn’t hear his phone ringing over the way he was bellowing Blake Shelton. He was thoughtful enough to turn the radio down to merely ear-splitting before he answered. “York’s tips and tricks, how can I service you this fine summer morning?”

“ _Please tell me you knew it was me when you picked up_ ,” said North, and York laughed.

“What can I do for you? Theta’s safe at school.”

“ _Good. Can you stop by the store on your way back and pick up coffee creamer? I’m trying to have a leisurely morning breakfast and forget to get any_.”

“Yep, no problem.”

“ _Thanks, I–_ ” He paused. “ _Is that ‘Sangria’ playing?_ ”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I didn’t even think you knew that song, normally everyone’s making fun of me for my country music.”

“ _Of course I… Look, I’ll see you when you get back. Thanks again_.” He hung up and York dropped the phone with a shrug. No accounting for North’s moods. He picked up hazelnut coffee creamer at the convenience store a few streets over from North’s and brought it over. Sure enough, North was still at the dining room table, reading a book about Stalingrad.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” York asked, handing over the creamer.

“High school got out yesterday. I texted you about it.”

“Oh. Sorry, my texts usually get lost in a flurry of Twitter notifications.” He shifted his wait from one foot to the other. “Well, I’m gonna go for my run. I’ll pick Theta up later so you can just chill.”

“Wait.” North set his book aside and turned to face York. “Did you… want to get lunch later?”

York’s eyebrows jumped. “Huh? Like… like a date?”

“No,” North said immediately. “But… it’s summer vacation, which means, I assume, I’ll be seeing a lot more of you. It might even be time for you to move back in full time. We barely talk, if someone asks me what you’ve been doing I have no answer… Like a Monday meeting, you know? Catching up.” York just looked at him slightly startled and he gave a slow nod. “If you’d rather not, I understand.”

“No, I… that sounds really, uh, useful. I’m gonna take D for a run and grab a shower first…”

“Whatever you need to do. Where do you want to meet?”

York figured he should name someplace classy, somewhere nice, but his cravings were very specific. “I’ll be honest, I really want to go to Panera. I’m craving a bread bowl like nobody’s business.”

North smiled a little at that. “I’ll meet you at the Panera at eleven.”

***

Wash would have given him hell for the outfit he put on to meet North, but York figured, hey, he’d once been old money Boston, might as well keep the aesthetic alive. Besides, it was too hot for sweatpants. He wore coral-colored shorts and a white button down with thin stripes of green and blue. He absolutely looked like a WASP, but the shorts flattered his ass and the shirt was his only clean one. So sue him.

North was already in line when he arrived, so he cut ahead of a cute brunette with a mumbled apology so he could stand with him. “Hello, Ivy League,” North said with a snort.

“Oh, jeez, is it that bad?”

“Loud.”

“Yeah, so am I. That’s not the problem.”

“After all the hell you give Wash for the way he dresses, you show up looking like this. Unbelievable.” To anyone else it would sound like reproach, and the stern expression would not assuage that fear, but York had learned to love the fine details of North’s face and could read the humor in the smallest of expressions; he knew when to be reproached and when to laugh along, and he laughed along.

When they’d picked up their food, North let York choose the table, a booth near a window so he could sit in the sun. The tension between them deepened and North stared at his salad when he spoke. “Tell me how things have been going.”

“Things, have, uh… been going. I still work a few days a week. Saw Wash a few days ago. Ran into South at Wal-Mart.”

“Mm, she told me about that. She told me you tried to use the self checkout for lube and when the machine broke you were so embarrassed you just bolted.”

“Snitch,” he complained, but he didn’t deny it. “Anyway, all I do is hang out with Theta or watch _Breaking Bad_. I’m the only person on Earth who hasn’t seen it yet and I’m feeling left out.”

“You know that’s not what I wanted to know,” North said softly, and York nodded.

“I’m, uh… I’m better than I used to be. It’s hard, y’know, seeing you every day and not… But, uh, it’s getting easier. And Theta seems happy, and that’s– that’s all I really care about right now.” He took a few spoonfuls of soup, not making eye contact. “So, uh, I was thinking about the best way to plan his party–”

“We were talking about you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t really like doing that, so–”

“Hm. That’s never been my experience.” There was a certain sparkle in North’s eye, an invitation to continue the joke. York couldn’t bring himself to.

“I guess I’m not really the man I used to be. But about Theta…”

There must have been something in his tone, because North sat back, folded his arms, and listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my fervent belief that York has TERRIBLE fashion sense. That is why he's in coral-colored shorts. No one drag my baby boy


	8. Referred Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, almost at the end here! Any feedback is much appreciated. :)

York officially moved back in over that weekend. He and Wash spent the day carting boxes back into North’s place, mostly clothes and his Xbox games. Everything else could stay at his old place; it was his family’s before him, the mortgage long since paid off, and it could stand to just gather dust for a while.

Most happily for Theta, Delta came with him, and they spent most of the afternoon bounding after each other in the backyard while the adults unpacked. Every once in a while York would pause with something in hand to look out at Theta laughing and Delta chasing him, and he would smile.

He moved straightaway back into North’s bedroom, the bed they used to share– king sized, so they wouldn’t have to touch all night. Something about it made York sick to his stomach, so even when he was stuffing shirts into his dresser drawers, he kept his gaze turned away.

Since it was over the summer, Theta could have his party _on_ his birthday, and ten of his classmates came to spend the afternoon celebrating his seventh. York baked a cake (from a box, with help) and left the decorating to North, whose hands were surer and whose color palette was less atrocious. Still, York helped write the words on top, wanting his love in every letter. After cake the kids went out and played outside, and North and York sat on the patio to supervise, which basically fell to playing lifeguard: sit there and don’t intervene unless someone’s hurt.

“When it’s time for presents, don’t let me forget that I stashed it in my dresser,” York said, sipping his coffee (long since gone cold, but he would call it _iced_ if asked). “I didn’t know where you stashed yours and I didn’t want him to find it.”

“He wouldn’t have looked for it. He’s a good kid.” North glanced at him. “You got him something?”

“Well, yeah. He’s practically my son. Of course I’d get him something.”

“That’s good of you.”

York shrugged, tried to smile. “Good thing I’m a better dad than I was a boyfriend, huh?”

“You were the _best_ boyfriend,” North said softly, so softly York thought maybe he imagined it. But he looked over and North was studying the pavestones with an uncharacteristic vulnerability on his face and York knew, somehow, that something precious was happening.

“I wish I hadn’t ruined it,” York said, just as soft so as not to break the spell. “I wish I hadn’t let _him_ kiss me.”

North lifted his head slowly and met York’s eyes. “What do you mean, let him kiss you? I thought you kissed him.”

York knitted his eyebrows together. “No. Did I say that I kissed him first?”

“Yes!”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I was– I was really hungover. It doesn’t matter anyway. I still slept with him. I still initiated sex. Believe me, North, now’s not really the time to pretend I didn’t fuck up. I know better than that.”

“I suppose,” he said with a low sigh. “It feels like centuries ago.”

That much was true. York didn’t even really think the version of him post-breakup felt real, either, staying in pajamas all hours of the day and eating infrequently if at all. For all that this fake relationship was breaking his heart, no one could ever say that heartbreak didn’t look good on him; he’d never looked as hale and healthy as he did now.

“I suppose,” York echoed. “But, y’know, however many centuries ago it was, Rome still fell.”

North paused. “No, it didn’t.”

“What?”

“I mean, the Roman Empire fell apart into two parts, but the Eastern half survived another thousand years under a different name. The city still stands. Three thousand years later and the city of Rome still stands.”

_That’s not what I meant_ , York wanted to say, but maybe it was.

***

Just as he said he would, North reminded York about his own gift when it was time for presents, and he thanked him gratefully, because he had already forgotten. The box he brought out into the dining room wasn’t extremely well-wrapped, with York’s strong hands never having been well-suited to delicate, creative tasks, but it at least wasn’t _shameful_ , and anyway, Theta was seven and wouldn’t care.

Theta, like most children, was somewhat unsure of what he wanted to be when he grew up. Or, rather, he was very sure of something different all the time. He had the right of it, York figured; growing up sucked. These days he said he wanted to be an architect, and so when he carefully unwrapped York’s gift– a Lego set of the Eiffel Tower– he gasped aloud. “Thank you York!”

“Aw, you’re welcome, buddy.” The box had said ages twelve and up, but Theta was mature enough to not eat the pieces, York figured. Absurdly, Theta’s bright eyes and wide smile made him want to cry, so he stepped into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

After presents, the kids were able to be corralled into watching _The Lion King_ , in the living room, so York helped North clean up the stacks of paper plates and make sure the leftover cake was stored so it wouldn’t go stale. “That was a really nice thing you did for Theta,” North said, and York shrugged.

“Dude, it’s his birthday, and I got him a present. You got him a present too. I’m sure South sent something age-inappropriate in the mail, like a handgun.” North snorted. “It’s just… not that big a deal.”

“It is to him. It is to me.” He sighed. “York… you never told me exactly what happened.”

“At the Lego store? I told the dude what I wanted, and he–”

“You know that isn’t what I mean.”

“No, I– I know.” He leaned against the kitchen island, determined not to look North in the eye. “I hurt you, North. I hurt you so bad, and I’m still… I’m _not_ trying to drum up pity, but I’m– I’m _haunted_ every day by that, I really am. What I did to you, and to Theta… It’s only gonna hurt you more if you hear the details.”

“Maybe,” North said. “But I have a right to know them.”

_No, you don’t_ , York thought, but then, his begetting sin had always been his own selfishness; he hoarded his pain like a dragon hoards gold, and he loved North. North had not asked so much of him. He could give him this.

“When I was twenty, I was stationed in a base in Texas,” he said.

North shook his head. “I want to know–”

“I know. But like every great mistake, there’s backstory you need. I was twenty when I met _him_.” Even now, even in this, he couldn’t say _his_ name, not to North, not in North’s house. It all but choked him anyway. “He was twenty-one and was going to college there. We met at a coffee shop and hit it off instantly; he played the guitar and I could always make him laugh. He was the love of my life, for a while. He– he was the first guy I ever had sex with.”

He knew that would surprise North, that York, who had always been so open about his preferences, had been in his twenties before sleeping with a man. But if North was surprised, he said nothing, so York continued. “We were _stupid_ in love. We were together for only six months, but it was– I didn’t think I would _ever_ feel like that again, and it was years before I did.”

He sighed. “We tried to keep in touch when I was switched to a different base, but I– I was training to get shipped overseas, and he was working on his thesis… It wasn’t meant to be. After a few years I hardly thought about him anymore, until he messaged me on Facebook almost a year ago, saying he wanted to catch up… I thought he meant as friends, you know that, I told you when he messaged me.”

“I remember,” North said. “I wish to God he hadn’t.”

“Yeah,” York said, “me neither. But he did, and I messaged him back.”

“I wish you hadn’t done that either.”

“Yeah,” he said again. “And then… I went to go meet him, and we… And you know what happened from there.”

North frowned. “You told me everything except what I wanted to know. All you did was tell me about a college boyfriend.”

“Don’t make me,” he said softly, near to begging. “Don’t make me tell you. I will, if you ask, but... Ask me again tonight, North. Think about it, and if tonight, when Theta’s in bed, you still want to know about why I cheated on you, I’ll tell you then.”


	9. Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW it's over! It's been a real ride, folks, hope this wasn't terribly disappointing.

To be completely honest, York hoped North would think better of his desire to know the truth and wouldn’t ask. They didn’t mention it during the rest of Theta’s party, as they entertained the kids and packed them off home; as they kissed Theta good night and sent him to bed with Delta for companionship; as they cleared away wrapping paper and had a piece of cake at midnight.

But then it was late at night and they had nowhere to be in the morning, and that was the most dangerous thing in the world for someone with secrets to keep. A light summer rain thrummed against the windows, but with the streetlight’s glow York could see North just fine. They sat in bed together in pajamas, cross-legged like kids at a sleepover trading scary stories.

“Talk to me,” North said, back to using the soft, willowy voice he’d used on the patio earlier, the one that shook York to the bone. He’d suffered months of stony silences and hateful glares; he really thought nothing could be worse than North hating him or, failing that, not giving a shit about him at all. But here he was, soft and sad and wide-eyed, and that broke York’s heart all over again.

“It won’t make you hate me less,” York replied, just as quiet.

“Maybe not. But I want to know anyway.”

Because knowing was always better than not knowing, and because York wanted to celebrate the progress of North wanting to talk about that night, he told him.

“It was two weeks before Halloween and the only thing _he_ wanted to do was drink and watch _Hocus Pocus_ ,” he started, like the beginning of a bad joke. “And you know that’s my kind of night, so we alternated beers and shots of vodka.” He could still taste the combination of Corona and whipped cream Smirnoff. It actually wasn’t the _worst_ combination, but he couldn’t drink either one without thinking about that night. “It was like it is with us, y’know? We talked, we laughed, we made stupid jokes. And then we– he put on a Boston CD. He used to play it for me all the time in college, and we started dancing, but really badly…”

He’d been stumbling so badly he could barely stand, but _he_ held him up and swung him around gracefully. “I don’t remember when he kissed me. I just remember when he was already kissing me, and I was surprised but it felt…” _God help me_. “I felt like an idiot kid again. That’s what he used to call me, y’know, _kid_ … He was only a year older than me. I… I forgot the decade we spent apart, I guess. I felt like an idiot kid, that’s the truth of it. And so I kissed him back, and I was the one who unbuttoned his shirt…”

York still couldn’t remember how they got to the bedroom, but he definitely remembered what they did when they got there. “I won’t tell you exactly what we did, because you can guess at that. He told me he loved me, just like he used to, and that I was beautiful…” He cast a shadowed glance away from North’s pitying blue eyes. “I feel ugly,” he admitted. “My scar. The only other person I know who knew me before was Carolina and she couldn’t give a shit how I looked. He told me that I’m just as good-looking as I was before, and– and I’m _vain_ , North, I’m pathetic and weak and vain and I needed to hear that from someone.”

He swallowed. “We woke up together in the morning and I was so sick… He was just fine, I don’t think he was as drunk as I was. Maybe he wasn’t really drunk at all–”

In his periphery he saw North hold up a hand. “You were that drunk and he was sober?”

“I know how it sounds, but that’s– that’s not the part that bothers me. I wasn’t blackout drunk. I consented. God help me, I wanted him. At the time, I mean.”

“That’s not what it’s about,” he said, but he let York continue the story.

“I was about to cry when I realized what I did, when I thought about you…”

_York dropped his head in his hands, sheets puddled around his waist, and_ he _sat up beside him. “You okay?” he asked._

_“We had sex,” York answered, like it wasn’t clear. “I’m– North, he–”_

He _shrugged. “I’m sure he’s strayed once or twice. It happens. Everyone does it.”_

_York looked at him askance. “No, they don’t. I’ve never… I guarantee he’s never… What do you mean, everyone? Did you cheat on me?”_

_“Sure, plenty. I figured you knew. You had that Carolina chick.” But he and Carolina didn’t hook up until he left Texas, and he said as much. “Okay, so maybe you didn’t. It doesn’t really matter.”_

_“How do you just… not care? You let me do this! Don’t you feel the least bit guilty?”_

_And Leonard Church laughed._

“He gave me a ride home,” York said, begrudging _him_ even that small kindness.

“You were so hungover you could hardly stand,” North recalled. “You said ‘we need to talk’ and threw up in my rosebushes.”

“And then we did talk, and I left, and we stopped talking. I certainly stopped talking to _him_. I know it was stupid, what I… worse than stupid, really, way worse than stupid… I knew what I was doing, and I should have stopped it, and I didn’t. And that’s the long and short of it.”

There was silence, except for the rain. “No,” North said finally. “That’s not what you told me before, when you first came home.”

“What do you mean?”

“All of this about the– the compliments, and the dancing…”

York picked at his thumbnail just to have something to do with his hands. “It wasn’t the time. You were so angry, and I was so– so guilty. I told you the important thing: we were drinking and stupid, and I had sex, and it was my fault.”

“But it– it wasn’t. York, you don’t understand. You were drunk and he was sober; he started dancing with you, he kissed you first; he picked up on your insecurities and made you feel desired; he reminded you of how it felt to be young and carefree. You were suggestible and wasted and went along with a smile.”

“North,” he said firmly, “I stripped us both naked. I told him how and where to touch me, I lay back and begged him to fuck me. How is that not my fault?”

North shook his head. “It is. But it’s more complicated than that.”

“I don’t think it is! You certainly didn’t think it was when you kicked me out!”

“Oh, and what was I supposed to do? You didn’t tell me anything! You just said that you got drunk with an ex and had sex with him! Was I supposed to just sit there and take it?”

York lay back and sighed in disgust, rolling over to face the wall so that he didn’t have to look at North. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about this! It’s ancient history, and you’re gonna make me relive the worst mistake of my fucking life! Go away, North. Leave me alone.”

He thought North might yell, but he didn’t. He retreated, went back to chilly courtesy. “Fine. If you’d rather I leave you be, then I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No, take the damn bed,” York said, moving to get up.

“No, I wouldn’t want to put you out.” 

York had had just about enough of icy sullenness, and he jumped up, pointing at North. “This is your damn problem, North, this is _always_ your problem. You never let anything fester.”

North folded his arms. “Festering wounds bring infection.”

“Arguments aren’t wounds! Just let it out! Yell, curse me out, take a swing at me if you have to! But you never let it out, and so it just sits and soaks and you just suffer under the weight of it all the time. You’re too accommodating, in your worst moments, even. Learn to break instead of bend, just for once.”

“You want me to curse you out?” His jaw was hard as steel and his eyes were cold, dull, but anything that would get everything out. York had to hope that they could at least come to a better understanding of everything once it was all out. “Fine. York, you’re a vain, arrogant son of a bitch. You’re so goddamn miserable and you think that makes you special, somehow, like the rest of us are never fucking unhappy, and then you get even more unhappy because you love thinking about how miserable you are, and then you’re in some self-masturbatory pity party.”

Fucking God, but it felt good to get yelled at. York stood his ground, determined to take it.

“You hold back information because you love thinking that no one understands you. You _fucked your ex-boyfriend!_ And as much as you love talking about how miserable you are since we broke up, you’ve never once apologized. Did you realize that? In all the puppy eyes and shaky smiles and pathetic evenings alone, you never _once_ told me that you were sorry for breaking my heart.”

There it was. There it all was. “I am sorry,” York said, the fight all gone out of him. “I didn’t– didn’t think about putting it in those exact words, it sounded so– so simple. Like, that’s what Theta says when he breaks a glass. _I’m sorry._ You deserve magnitudes.” North opened his mouth to speak again and York shook his head. “No, I get it. You don’t want magnitudes. So here it is, North Dakota: I am sorry. I am so, so sorry that I broke your heart.”

For a moment North stood firm and looked like he was going to keep reaming York out, but then his face crumbled and his shoulders shook and York rushed over to embrace him, and for the first time in his life he saw North cry. “Hush,” York murmured to him, like he was comforting Theta after a nightmare. “Hush, my love. I’m here. I’m here.” _I hope you want me here._

But North must have, because he clutched him tight, his face buried in York’s neck. Neither one would be able to say, later, how long they held each other in the dark with the sound of the rain outside, but it was a long while, with North shaking with silent sobs. York wouldn’t admit it but a few tears got lost in North’s shirt.

Finally, though, North pulled away and regarded him with red-rimmed eyes. “You’re back,” York said, rather stupidly.

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

“But you did.” North’s sullenness, his coldness, his snappishness, it was gone. His face still had traces of anger, and of course the sadness, but it was all open; the guarded quality of his face had disappeared, and he was once again the man York used to know so well, and still loved. “God, North, I’ve missed you.”

“I know. I missed you too. I’m still angry,” he allowed. “I don’t know when I won’t be angry anymore. But… you were right. Time to break, and rebuild.”

York sucked in a breath. “You mean it? You want to get back together?”

“Maybe, I...” North sighed. “Yes. I think so. Slow, for a while.”

“No, no, of course.”

“But I still love you. Always did. Wish I didn’t, sometimes,” there York smiled, “but I do. And tomorrow I’m gonna wake up next to you, and you’re gonna smile just like that, and that’s gonna be something. I can work up from there.”

“That’s fine by me.” Anything, anything.

“And for the record,” he said, cupping York’s scarred cheek, “you’re gorgeous. I don’t know what you looked like before the scar, but I know that you’re gorgeous now, and I wouldn’t change a thing about you.” York smiled again, but softer. “I’m so tired. Come to bed.”

***

York kept kind of an ongoing tally of the next few months, like he was a new parent documenting his kid’s firsts:

June 28, the morning after their argument, when they kissed for the first time for no reason than because they wanted to. They ended up staying in bed for two hours after they woke up, just kissing.

July 13, when Theta spent the night at a friend’s and just like when they met, they fell into bed. North kissed York everywhere he could reach, and when they finally came together, York cried.

August 20-24, when they took a weeklong vacation as a family to a lake a few hours away. North got more than a little sunburned, but it was worth it to dance on the sand to the shitty boombox turned to whatever station they could find. That night, it was the country station, to York’s delight, and an old favorite came on: ‘Sangria’ by Blake Shelton.

“You asked me a few months ago how I knew this song,” North murmured in his ear as they swayed. “It was the first song you and I danced to, the last time we came out here. I’ve been kind of thinking of it as our song since then.”

“How lame,” York whispered back, but he leaned in closer anyway.

November 1, North took York out to dinner and got down on one knee, and York didn’t cry but he wanted to when he said yes, yes, a thousand times yes. York suggested to Theta later that he could start calling him ‘dad’ like he did North, and Theta rolled his eyes and said it would be too confusing for both of them to be dad, and York couldn’t fault his logic.

And the really great part after that, York figured, was that the good things were too numerous to remember all the dates and places and people. He never forgot Carolina’s advice to celebrate progress, and that’s what he did. And it wasn’t perfect; sometimes North would draw into himself a little and York would know he was remembering, and sometimes Theta would act up into frustration, and sometimes Delta would shit on the floor and it would be his job to clean it up because _it’s your damn dog, York._

But it wasn’t about that, not really. It mattered that the good days outnumbered the bad a hundred to one, and it mattered that he woke up every morning in the company of the two people he loved most in the world. It mattered that he could be friendly with South, and go on double dates with Carolina, and that he could let Wash stop worrying.

He was living. That was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know this ending is just absolute cheese. I really do. Bear with me. Consider leaving a comment with any thoughts!)

**Author's Note:**

> Consider leaving a review to let me know what you think!


End file.
